


A Discordant Requiem

by the_dragongirl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Attempted Necromancy, Dooku is a creep, Force Ghosts, M/M, Non-consensual Necromancy to be specific, Sith, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dragongirl/pseuds/the_dragongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Count Dooku is determined that, even though he had his lover killed, they will still be together someday. He won't let anything stop him - not even his dead lover's own objections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Offertory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissPop/gifts), [LaceFedora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceFedora/gifts).



> So, I blame LaceFedora for this. Lace oh-so-kindly pointed out how Dooku kept Sifo-Dyas' corpse in a lovely glass cryo-chamber, talked to it, and used bits of it in Sith alchemy (no, really, this is all canon). I am not entirely sure how this observation led to the existence of this ship, but it did, and now I have committed angst. The second half can be blamed on Poplitealqueen, who requested it on tumblr for my 300 follower ficlet celebration. Thanks also to PunsBulletsAndPointyThings for the use of her first name for Dooku.

It is not the way of the Sith to see beauty in the universe. But then, Sifo-Dyas has always been lovely enough to take Dooku’s breath away, and no amount of time spent in the Dark can make him forget it. Even in death, and blurred by the casing of the hibernation capsule, that face is still the most captivating sight in Dooku’s stronghold.

The body is…less so. The shuttle crash that had taken Sifo’s life had left his corpse in a sorry condition indeed. Beneath the robes that Dooku had so carefully wrapped him in before laying him to rest in the chamber, Sifo’s strong, elegant form was badly damaged, organs mangled beyond all repair. It would be easy, standing over the chamber now, to imagine that Sifo was simply sleeping, but that kind of damage really can’t be hidden from one who feels the Force. And besides, Dooku refuses to give in to that kind of self-delusion anymore. He gave that up when he gave up all the other weaknesses of the Jedi. He will face reality as it is, with his eyes open.

That does not, however, mean he has let go of his anger at the situation. Damn the Pykes for their carelessness! Damn them to the lowest of the Sith Hells! Sifo’s death had been an unfortunate necessity in Dooku’s path to power, but it was supposed to be a gentle death. A small death, just enough to ensure that his Master knew of Dooku’s commitment. Then Sifo could have slept out the war that was to come here, in the place Dooku had prepared for him, his body perfectly preserved, and his spirit bound close by until the day that Dooku could apply those carefully studied Sith magics and restore his love to his side.

But no. They couldn’t even handle a simple, clean assassination, and now all of Dooku’s carefully laid plans are in ruin. The revival techniques he so assiduously pieced together from the ancient Sith texts require an intact body in order to return a spirit to life, and thanks to the Pykes’ clumsiness, Sifo’s body is anything but. Oh, they paid for their mistake, and paid dearly, but now Dooku has been forced to…improvise.

At least this new technique seems to be progressing as expected. Dooku’s lips twist slightly in distaste at the thought of transferring more parts of Sifo to the cyborg construct that currently calls itself Grievous, but he cannot deny that the transfusion of Sifo’s blood has already made that creature a much more suitable host for his lover’s spirit. The use of Sifo’s lightsaber had further attuned the body to its future occupant. It won’t be long now before Dooku can erase the spirit of the Kaleesh altogether, and install Sifo in his rightful place. That body may be monstrous, but it will keep Sifo-Dyas safely moored among the living until Dooku can work out the difficulties of cloning Force sensitives, and restore Sifo to his proper form.

“Well, my dear,” Dooku murmurs, laying a gentle hand on the capsule’s surface, over the remains of Sifo’s heart. “How are you this morning? Are you ready to begin?”

And then, in the Force, he hears it. That beloved voice, with him again.

_No. NO! Force take it, Jard, I know you can hear me. You think this is some kind of FAVOR to me? You think making me watch you perform Sith experiments on my kriffing corpse is anything less than my worst nightmare? You think this is anything even remotely resembling love? Answer me, you complete and utter bastard! You know damned that I don’t want this. Why can’t you just let me go?_

Dooku smiles, very pointedly keeping his gaze focused away from the glowing form coalescing behind him, and caresses the cover of the capsule again. “Don’t worry, my dear. I promise you’ll understand what I’m doing for you soon. Very soon, if today’s experiments are successful.”

Then, ignoring the spluttering of the spirit behind him, Dooku turns away from the hibernation chamber, and sets about his work.

 


	2. Libera Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sifo-Dyas cannot always bring himself to watch.

Sometimes, Sifo-Dyas can’t bear to look at him. As a Force ghost bound to a small portion of the physical plane by Sith blood magic, Sifo-Dyas doesn’t precisely have eyes, per se, but he does retain some ability to direct his focus, and there are times when being aware of what Dooku ( _Jard, oh, sweet Force, how can this man possibly be his Jard?_ ) has become is just too much.

Now is one of those times. Dooku is not, for once, performing twisted experiments on Sifo’s corpse. Instead, he is pacing back and forth across his study, muttering to himself as he tears feverishly through an ancient manuscript (and Sifo refuses to think about how long it’s been since Dooku slept. Refuses to think about the shadows under his eyes, or the gray cast to his skin, or the lines that have etched themselves more deeply into his brow. Sifo-Dyas is _not_ going to worry over the man who had him killed. He is _not_.) Notes are scattered across every surface; page after page of of flimsiplast covered in hasty diagrams and barely-legible scratches obscure the desk, cover the chair, and drift haphazardly onto the floor. A half-eaten bread roll lies forgotten under one of the piles, growing increasingly stale. A cup of tea, long gone cold, balances precariously on the end of a bookshelf, threatening to tip over onto one of the piles of notes at the slightest disturbance.

It should be such a mundane sight. Just an old man lost in scholarly pursuits. Nothing nearly as horrifying as the violent experiments and bloody sacrifices Sifo-Dyas has witnessed since he was killed and bound here. Almost banal in its normality, in fact. But there is something utterly obscene in it, because the scene is so Sith-damned _familiar_.

Sifo-Dyas remembers his lover as a young man, studying frantically for exams or annotating tracts on cultural practices in preparation for a diplomatic mission, so focused on his goal that inconsequentials like organization, rest, and nutrition fell by the wayside. His first tiny quarters as a new Knight had looked much like this study; covered in data pads and sheets of notes and other detritus, and utterly lacking anything resembling reasonable sustenance. Back then, it had been Sifo-Dyas who organized the stacks of flimsiplast, who rescued the teetering tea cup, who cajoled Jard into eating and sleeping occasionally. Sifo-Dyas had been better at seeing the larger picture, and ensuring that basic needs and obligations were not neglected. He had always been the one who provided Jard with a sense of perspective.

It is that lack of his wider perspective, Sifo-Dyas supposes bitterly, which turned Jard into…this. This Sith who wears his lover’s face and speaks in his voice, but lacks all of nobility and hidden compassion that Sifo fell in love with, all those years ago (and oh, hadn’t Master Yoda warned them? Hadn’t he told them that this attachment of theirs would lead them down a dangerous path?) In his darker, more despairing moments, Sifo-Dyas wonders exactly when his Jard died, and Lord Tyrannus took his place. When Qui-Gon died? When Komari left the Order? Had Dooku been slipping the whole time Sifo-Dyas was off attempting to avert the disaster he saw in his visions? Could Sifo have prevented Dooku’s Fall, if he’d been there to temper those single-minded obsessions of his? Or had the Sith always been lurking beneath the surface, just waiting for the right set of circumstances to come along and bring it to the fore?

And then there are times, like now, when Sifo-Dyas has to turn away, to think of anything but Dooku and what brought him to this point, or be lost entirely. Because if Sifo looks at Dooku right now, he is terribly certain that he will see his Jard. He will look at him, and he will want to remind him that he needs to eat and drink just as much as any other member of his species. He will want to tell Dooku that he’s not as young as he used to be, and his health is going to suffer if he doesn’t get some rest. Sifo-Dyas will want to take his lover by the hand, and lead him to their bed, and hold him in his arms while he sleeps.

And he CAN’T. HAVE. THAT. Because he is dead. He is, in fact, worse than dead. He is a ghost entrapped by hideous magics and forced to witness atrocities on a daily basis, forbidden even the final release of becoming one with the Force. There is no point in wanting those things, because the lover he longs for died long ago. And the man in front of him?

That is the Sith who murdered them both.

 


End file.
